Chapter Text
Qui-Gon remembers the time he first met Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The little redhead had been with his friends, each of them sat in a circle of the room of a thousand fountains playing a card game. They just so happened to be in Qui-Gon’s secluded corner up and out of view, so it was a surprise to leap up the ledge of his secret enclave to discover prepubescent kids gambling with pebbles where he’d planned to meditate.
“I believe that this is against the rules” Qui-Gon says serenely, relishing in the way each child jumps at his amused voice.
“Master Jinn!” A little Mon Calamari exclaims, smart enough to try and hide her cards while the others freeze in terror, “We were just—“
“Meditating!” A redhead shouts, legs crossed and cards thrown precariously behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, what he said” the girl responds, her hands folding respectively into her lap.
Qui-Gon raises an amused brow, using the force to lift up the draw pile they’ve set up in the center.
“Using Master Fisto’s underwater deck?” He confirms, “While simply pretending to have it set up for a game of blackjacks? What an interesting method for meditation, young padawans. Might I join you?” Qui-Gon asks politely, plopping himself down between the lot of them without waiting for permission.
He enjoys the barely concealed glances of discomfort the padawans send each other, faces scrunched oddly while trying to appear content with this development. No better time for an impromptu lesson, he decides. Qui-Gon picks up a card and, without looking, sets it face down in front of him.
“What number is on the card?” He asks the wary children surrounding him.
He’s met with confused silence. Reasonable, he supposes, for now.
“Is this a trick question?” Quinlan Vos asks, a Kiffar that Qui-Gon remembers from a crude prank the padawan set off that rattled the entire temple.
Little celebrity, that one is. It tracks that he’d be a part of a padawan gambling ring, Qui-Gon muses. Force knows the rants he’s gotten from Master Tholme, bless the man.
“No tricks,” Qui-Gon assures, “Try to sense it through what I know in my head. The gift of understanding another’s mind, even briefly, can be very helpful when you are in a precarious situation. What can you see?” He asks.
Immediately, intense looks of concentration span across the children’s faces, each of them looking constipated as they stare down Qui-Gon. This might be his favorite lesson, because every single time results in the most unique expressions of uninhibited straining. He keeps his mind open, breaking down his shields and allowing the kid’s force presences to blindly prod at his thoughts.
He can sense the moment the first one grasps the image he is pressing towards them.
“Eight of spades!” The Mon Calamari shouts triumphantly, her fist pumping in the air.
The other padawans groan, Quinlan Vos slumping his head in annoyance onto the redhead’s shoulder, only to be shoved off seconds later. Ah, youth. Qui-Gon needs to visit the créche more. He forgets how entertaining they are. Besides, Xatanos is a knight now, and Qui-Gon will need to search out his next padawan to take.
“Well done,” he praises the girl, “And what is your name?” Qui-Gon asks calmly.
“Bant” she announces.
“You’ll sit out and watch this time, Bant. Try to sense what others do wrong,” as he says this, he draws another card and sets it down in front of him.
A few of the padawans already have that look on their faces, trying to catch Qui-Gon off guard. It’s humorous, observing their lack of care for the expressions they pull as they fumble around with their little force signatures. Bant seems to be riding alongside a force bond with one of the others, more relaxed with less pressure on her.
“Is it a King of Hearts?” The redhead asks hesitantly.
“Of diamonds , but close enough. It takes practice” he comforts as the kid slumps in defeat, “I have a great deal of experience, I assure you. It does not come easy,”.
Understatement of the year. Reading someone’s mind is a challenge for decades of practice. Qui-Gon is making it easy, purposefully shoving the thought to the front of his mind for them to grasp, but passing the threshold into another sentient’s headspace is a very difficult task.
“My Master has been working on sending thoughts through our bond so I can make her tea without getting out of bed” Bant reveals proudly.
Ah. What wonderful blackmail for Master Tahl, Qui-Gon thinks gleefully. Too lazy to make her own drinks. It’s no wonder Bant was first, then. Master Tahl is quite adept with more mental sides of the force, working in a library with the need to memorize every book. Not just their locations. Every book. Bant has large shoes to fill.
“Lucky” the redhead mumbles glumly.
“You’re just jealous” Quinlan teases, elbowing the redhead, “that’s not very Jedi-like of you”.
“Neither is stealing Master Kisto’s cards!” The kid defends.
“Oh yeah, because you’re sooo innocent while you played Dealer with them, huh?” Quinlan bites back, “tell him, Siri”.
Siri, a blonde human who has been trying to subtly hide behind a taller, also blonde padawan, winces.
“I’m staying out of this” Siri deflects, shaking her head.
“Padawans,” Qui-Gon says, pushing a wave of calm at each of them through the force.
Bristling arguments settle almost immediately, attention turning to him with bright eyes.
“What number is on the card?”.
The silly expressions are back. Qui-Gon hides a smile.
It is only after the game when Qui-Gon actually learns Obi-Wan’s name.
“How did you know what was on the card?” The redhead is asking him, fiddling with his shirt.
The rest of the Padawans are taking turns leaping down from the ledge, their masters supposedly summoning for lunch with a mental prodding. The redhead lags behind to satiate his curiosity—an admirable trait.
“I saw it,” Qui-Gon responds with a pleasant smile.
“No, you had it face down the whole time. Were you making up the number on the bottom?” The kid prods, having to jog a bit to keep up with Qui-Gon’s longer legs as he starts walking towards the ledge.
“Of course not, I am no cheat,” Qui-Gon says with amusement, “I simply looked”.
“But not with your eyes”
“No,” Qui-Gon confirms, “Not with my eyes. They are not needed. What is your name?”.
“Obi-Wan” the redhead mumbles, face scrunched up in thought as he tries to decipher Qui-Gon’s methods.
“Where is your Master? I’d be happy to explain to you my process on your way” Qui-Gon demures, pausing on the ledge to face Obi-Wan.
“I don’t have one,” the little thing admits, defeated.
Perfect. Qui-Gon had a feeling that was the case. He senses something special about the youngling, and this conclusion feels right. Xatanos won’t have to wait long for a friend in the lineage, Qui-Gon thinks with a smile.
He just has to hope that nobody snipes Obi-Wan before he can. Best to spread the word, he decides, before it’s too late. Taking Obi-Wan as a padawan might be something Qui-Gon takes into consideration.
“I’m sure your day will come” Qui-Gon comforts thoughtlessly, patting the kid’s shoulder before leaping from the small cliffside.
He looks up at Obi-Wan, alone and staring down at the room of a thousand fountains with a resigned look. He looks tiny surrounded by the thick leaves surrounding the small cove. He looks tired.
It will change, Qui-Gon decides. Eventually.
-
Obi-Wan has heard legendary stories of the temple’s Maverik, Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Not really a rule breaker, but definitely not a rule follower. Obi-Wan thinks he can see why when the Master creates a test out of their entirely illegal gambling within the temple.
It gives all of them a great excuse as to why Kit Fitso’s cards were in their possession in the first place. Merely a lesson of the mind, Master Dralling! No need to investigate further. There was another real Master involved so it can’t be nefarious at all. Please don’t tell anyone.
But then Qui-Gon uses those dreaded words.
“I’m sure your day will come,” he says, before promptly abandoning Obi-Wan to the solitude of the enclave.
Ugh. Everyone says that. Even Quinlan, which is just wrong because Quinlan only says nice things when he feels bad or is lying to get away with something. It’s just humiliating to be the last picked every time. Apparently this extends to padawanship.
Obi-Wan waits until even master Qui-Gon leaves the room, returning to the secluded cove. He grabs one of the pebbles with the force, slumping down onto the grass and watching it hover in front of him.
He’s not really hungry anyways, he decides, sending the small stone flying against the wall.
-
The next time that Qui-Gon runs across Obi-Wan is when they’re in the library.
Qui-Gon snuck in moments prior with a book he’d checked out a week ago. He’s never actually read it, but there is a flower pressed carefully within one of the pages he scanned with a sweet and romantic poem on it.
He turns the corner straight into a wayward padawan, nearly dropping the precious cargo.
“Master Jinn!” A shrill voice starts, before immediately hushing in fear of retribution for the loud noise, “What are you—uh, I mean.. Can I help you?”
Qui-Gon looks down to Obi-Wan in surprise, his hands full of books up to his chin.
“I believe it is I who should be extending the offer to you” Qui-Gon says, his shock concealed expertly with a gracious smile.
Without a word, he uses the force to lift the heavy burden from Obi-Wan’s arms. Books float around Obi-Wan’s head as he spins around in awe at the display.
“I didn’t think of that,” Obi-Wan admits, a little embarrassed, “I thought I’d get in trouble”.
“If anyone asks, you’re simply training your discipline,” Qui-Gon says with a wink.
Obi-Wan returns it with a mischievous smile. Qui-Gon can feel when the youngling begins to clumsily take control of the hovering pages, carefully balancing them behind him. Obi-Wan keeps them close to himself, as if afraid he might bump someone with them as they float carefully behind him. At this age, it’s a reasonable concern.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Master Tahl is, would you?” Qui-Gon asks, waving the book in his hands a little as if he needs to explain his reasoning to the child.
“Uhm.. I think she’s on break right now. I’m volunteering though! I can check that in for you” Obi-Wan says, eager to please.
“I, uh.. had some questions for her about some of the contents” Qui-Gon tries politely.
“That’s the story of Segahli, isn’t it? I’ve read that a few times. It’s very tragic!” Obi-Wan gushes, “I know like, the entire series. If you have any questions, I bet I can answer them!”.
“Ah. Lovely” Qui-Gon grimaces, “I have several”.
He didn’t even read it.
Obi-Wan looks so earnest though, nearly bouncing at the prospect of being helpful. Qui-Gon plasters on a smile and follows as the youngling works to shelve books, asking meaningless questions about the story. Stuff that surely wouldn’t be described or very deeply researched, right?
It’s when the kid can answer exactly what the average temperature of the main character’s bedroom is that Qui-Gon realizes that he may be karked in his desperate questions. His only solace is that Obi-Wan has yet to catch on to his blind questionnaire, too eager to please. It’s adorable, and almost makes his failure of a trip worth it.
Until a dreaded blockade halts their impromptu adventure. Turning a corner, they run into Madame Joscata Nu, keeper of the library and Qui-Gon’s third biggest fear.
“Master Jinn” she greets with a cold expression, softening when she looks down at Obi-Wan. “Kenobi,” she says warmly.
“Hello Master,” Obi-Wan says politely, bowing respectfully.
“I was just about to head out,” Qui-Gon informs after a beat, pointing his thumb towards where he hopes is an exit.
“Not with that, you aren’t” Madame Nu says, using the force to pull the book from Qui-Gon’s hands, “it’ll be overdue by tomorrow”.
“I was just about to show him the rest of the series!” Obi-Wan explains, “He has a lot of questions about the lore. I don’t know of anyone else who has read this!”.
“Ah, suddenly discovering your love for classic literature, are you?” Madame Nu asks, giving Qui-Gon a knowing look.
“Yup” he gulps, his large hand engulfing Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he pats it, “Obi-Wan here has great recommendations”.
Madame Nu opens the book in her palm with the force. Qui-Gon knows this, because he has to make eye contact with her as she stares him down when it lands on the poem-with-a-flower page. He fights to keep a calm expression.
“Oh, flower pressing!” Obi-Wan points out, delighted when Madame Nu lowers it for him to see.
“Yes. A passable attempt I suppose, for an amateur." Madame Nu doesn’t break eye contact.
Qui-Gon closes his eyes, praying for strength.
“Say, Qui-Gon” Madame Nu says conversationally, “Do you remember the ending of the book? If I recall correctly, the writer of this very poem meets a gruesome end as he fights for his lover’s hand against her father ”.
“Oh yeah!” Obi-Wan butts in, “Her dad totally shredded that guy. He was such a jerk!”.
Ah. How interesting. No beads of sweat are running down Qui-Gon’s back at all. Books are awesome.
“Are you old enough to be reading these?” He asks Obi-Wan weakly.
Obi-Wan shrugs. Madame Nu doesn’t say anything. Qui-Gon wishes to be anywhere but here. Madame Nu pats Obi-Wan’s head with affection, sending him off to his next assignment.
She folds her arms and glares at Qui-Gon.
“Things will change,” she says menacingly, slamming the book shut, “I assure you”.
-
Obi-Wan thinks Master Qui-Gon is pretty cool. The kinds of questions he asks are really stuff only a true fan of the works would even want to know. Like, why else would he be curious about how many jewels are on the crown? The symbolism doesn’t even start to appear until book three, but Qui-Gon caught on without even meeting the princess!
Obi-Wan hums to himself as he shelves another stack of paper books, carefully handling the rare pages with gloves. He hopes Qui-Gon comes and visits more. Maybe they can read the next series together. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Of course, Obi-Wan has heard the rumors of Qui-Gon making a claim to take him as a padawan. It could just be rumors, really, and he tries so hard not to get his hopes up. There’s a printed list of reasons why masters won’t take him, it would be so weird if Qui-Gon actually asked him.
But like.. it would be so cool. Obi-Wan tries to imagine it. Being a padawan. To the Maverik, too! On his way to being a knight and then a Master and then saving lives every day or whatever. It’s plausible now.
Things will change, Obi-Wan tells himself. Someday.
-
Qui-Gon sits in the bed of the medbay with lifeless eyes, staring at the wall.
Normally, Xatanos would be right beside him, complaining about how dingy the transport ship was or how lame their guide spoke. Casual annoyances, constant chittering, endless noise.
Today it is quiet.
Qui-Gon stares down at his hands, eyes blinking hard as he fights for control. Xatanos fell to the dark side today. He killed innocents, disputed the Order, cried out for vengeance. He tried to kill Qui-Gon.
It’s surreal. Last night they’d been debating politics over a Corrica Worm dish, flinging live ones at each other on the ferry ship towards Bandomeer with humorous cries of disgust. It was a normal mission, as far as ‘normal’ goes in this lineage, but Xatanos was happy.
That was until the boy met his father.
Now, Qui-Gon sits alone in the medical room as he feels hot tears slipping down his cheeks.
Xatanos fell to the dark side.
It echoes in his mind, like a dark cave with walls of pain reflecting the thought over and over. Even across the galaxy, there is endless noise from the boy he raised.
Xatanos fell to the dark side.
The door opens. Qui-Gon doesn’t look up, because he knows it isn’t his—his former padawan.
An arm wordlessly stretches across his shoulders, a calm force presence slipping into his own like it belongs there, muffling the cave walls with soft pillows of comfort. Qui-Gon leans into Tahl’s side, closing his eyes and burying a sob.
Xatanos fell to the dark side.
It won’t change, Qui-Gon thinks helplessly.
-
Obi-Wan heard it from Bant, who heard it from Tahl, who was there at Qui-Gon’s side for a week after the incident.
Xatanos fell to the dark side.
“You’re sure?” He hisses, holding Bant’s hand and trying to keep up as she runs around a corner.
“Everyone is talking about it, how haven’t you heard!”.
“I don’t have a gossip buddy for a Master!” Obi-Wan grumbles, a little breathless as he tries to keep a grip on the book he grabbed last second.
“Well, Tahl said that Qui-Gon will be at dinner today. She said that I need to bring you to cheer him up, and that you’ve been skipping meals too often anyways”.
“Why would I cheer him up?? He barely even knows me!”.
“She said you’re a cute little kid who he actually checked out a book for! He never does that,” Bant explains, “She thinks it’ll help him out of the slump,”.
“No pressure or anything” Obi-Wan mumbles to himself, stumbling after her.
The fall of Xatanos bounces around his head like a mantra of doom. Qui-Gon must be devastated. Obi-Wan never met the knight, too intimidated to try seeking out Qui-Gon beyond coincidence, and by extension, his student. He can’t imagine how terrible it must be to lose a former padawan to the dark side.
They make it to dinner when the serving meal lines are empty, meaning that it’s basically over already. Not as many individuals are scattered across the room, but that just makes it easier to spot the long hair of Qui-Gon nursing a drink with Tahl. They’re seated at a tall counter, too high for Obi-Wan to see over the top.
“Master!” Bant says, announcing their presence as they run towards them, “Obi-Wan fell asleep while meditating!”.
Oh, so they’re lying now? Obi-Wan wishes he’d been informed of this beforehand. He never falls asleep while meditating. He finds it far too fascinating.
Qui-Gon looks to Tahl rather than them, as if asking for her to deal with it. Obi-Wan grows a little disheartened. Qui-Gon has never outright ignored him before. Tahl shakes her head, gesturing to them pointedly. Qui-Gon grimaces, sipping at his drink lifelessly.
“I, uh, also brought something for you” Obi-Wan says nervously, fidgeting with the book in his hands.
Finally, Qui-Gon acknowledges him with a tired look. Obi-Wan holds out the book, opening to the page he’d prepared a few days before the whole evil padawan thing happened. He feels bad now, wanting it to be a gift but timing turning it into more of an apology.
On it is a little pressed flower, orange and bright against the colorless page. It’s a sign of friendship and trust, originating from Naboo. Obi-Wan is fairly certain that Qui-Gon is aware of this, because he’s seen the Master’s affinity for plants up close.
Qui-Gon stares down at it, expression blank. Slowly, he shakily accepts the book from Obi-Wan’s hands, bringing it up to the counter. He reads the words on the page. It was a passage about adventure, something referencing the book series Obi-Wan had ranted about.
Qui-Gon doesn’t say a word.
“He loves it” Master Tahl answers for him, a sad expression in her eyes, “He’s just in a mood”.
Yeah, no kidding. Obi-Wan would be as well if his padawan went dark. There’s nothing worse than that, he decides, watching the way Qui-Gon hunches over the book with anguish in his posture. Not able to see his expression, nor sense through his shields, Obi-Wan decides to give them privacy.
“I’m gonna go.. meditate” Obi-Wan says, pointing to what he hopes is an exit.
“Me too” Bant echoes, uncomfortable, “But I won’t fall asleep” she adds rudely.
“May the force guide you” Master Tahl says pleasantly, waving them off.
Once out of earshot, Obi-Wan punches Bant as hard as he can.
“Ow! What was that for?” She cries out, rubbing the sore spot on her arm.
“You made me make him cry!” Obi-Wan whines.
“He could’ve been laughing!”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you seriously think he was laughing, ” Obi-Wan hisses.
“Okay, probably not, but maybe it helped?” Bant doesn’t look confident as she says this, shrugging helplessly.
“I’m gonna die of embarrassment” Obi-Wan states, “nobody is going to want a padawan who made the Maverik cry. That’s like, bad luck or something”.
“Maybe he’ll take you as his next one!” She tries to comfort.
Obi-Wan bolsters himself with the force this time when he punches Bant. The shout of pain that rockets out of her hurts his ears a little, but not as much as when she tackles him to the floor. They wrestle in the hallway until they’re too tired to continue, breathing heavily.
“Don’t say that” Obi-Wan pants, sprawling across the ground and rubbing one of the baby teeth with his tongue that jiggled loose.
“Say what” she breathes back, already forgetting what he’d punched her for.
“Don’t try to make good of this” he responds breathlessly, “Xatanos was like us. He’s here even when he’s not”.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Bant whispers, but doesn’t argue that she shouldn’t have said what she did.
It does, Obi-Wan thinks. The way Xatanos’s presence has shaken everyone so much. The way Qui-Gon cries over a stupid book that was meant to be a joke. The way Tahl has to speak for him because he’s too hurt to do it himself. The way that Obi-Wan needs to be here for comfort at all.
It does make sense. Xatanos is still here, even when he’s not.
“What in the world are you two doing?” A commanding voice asks, startling Bant and Obi-Wan.
Master Windu is marching down the hall towards them, rerouting himself from where he’d been headed to the dinner room. It’s as menacing as the man is bald, which is very, very menacing.
“Meditating” Bant blurts out, sitting up swiftly to sell the story.
Obi-Wan doesn’t bother moving. He’s pretty sure that the black eye he knows is forming on his face is telling enough. He rolls his eyes as Bant tries to kick him into sitting up.
They are corralled into the medbay by a frustrated Master Windu. Some things never change, Obi-Wan thinks, watching Bant try to scramble for the most believable story that will get them in the least amount of trouble.
Watching Master Windu nod along as if he believes it is, even though it clearly isn’t true, is new. Some things do change , Obi-Wan observes, leaving the room with barely a slap on the wrist.
Change might be situational, he concludes.